<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>this side of paradise by Anonymous</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533971">this side of paradise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internal Conflict, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Online Romance, Possibly Unrequited Love, Selectively Mute Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 07:02:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Clay and George weren't really friends.</p><p>They knew each other, sure, knew of each other. George had heard rumors about Clay, the supposed mute with golden green eyes. Clay—well, his few friends overlapped with George's, but he hadn't interacted directly with the other. George, two years older and taking the same comp sci classes, was nothing more than a casual acquaintance to Dream.</p><p>They're in the same dorm building so George sometimes sees the blond in the halls, or in the lounge downstairs. But most of the time George spends his time away in his room, streaming or coding. Their one interaction had been nothing more than a locking of eyes over masks and quick glances away.</p><p>And yet. He's friends with Dream.</p><hr/><p>Inspired by the song "This Side Of Paradise" by Coyote Theory.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>abandoned :/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing is, Clay and George weren't really friends.</p>
<p>They knew each other, sure, knew of each other. George had heard rumors about Clay, the supposed mute with golden green eyes. Clay—well, his few friends overlapped with George's, but he hadn't interacted directly with the other. George, two years older and taking the same comp sci classes, was nothing more than a casual acquaintance to Dream.</p>
<p>They're in the same dorm building so George sometimes sees the blond in the halls, or in the lounge downstairs. But most of the time George spends his time away in his room, streaming or coding. Their one interaction had been nothing more than a locking of eyes over masks and quick glances away.</p>
<p>And yet. He's friends with Dream.</p><hr/>
<p>Sitting in the back left corner, Dream spins a pen in his fingers with practiced ease as he waits for class to end in the next few minutes. He blankly listens to his prof go over their weekend work once again, and rubbed a hand through his hair with a soft sigh. He hadn't slept well last night; had tossed and turned before getting up and opening a writing document. Like most nights, he'd had less than 5 hours, and couldn't be bothered to care.</p>
<p>The prof finishes explaining the work—nothing difficult, just a test of skill to see where they were—and Dream grabs his laptop and bag, taking his time to let everyone leave before him. Right as his hand touches door, his teacher calls out his name.</p>
<p>"Oh, Clay—you wouldn't mind staying back for a moment, right?" he asks.</p>
<p>Dream pauses for a second, watching people move beyond the glass of the door, then turns. "Of...course not." Surely it can't be anything bad—it was only Friday.</p>
<p>"Wonderful," his teacher says, and really, Dream should know his name. As he turns back he sees the small tag on his vest: Dr. Erickson. He keeps his eyes downward and waits for Erikson to speak.</p>
<p>"Now, Clay—you're a freshman, right?" Erikson asks politely. Dream nods. Shuffles his feet. "You've done this before, haven't you? Coded, I mean."</p>
<p>Another nod, and Dream looks away. He really could do without talking right now.</p>
<p>Erikson looks at him for a long moment, and his skin pricks. "You're a real good student, Clay. Smart kid."</p>
<p>"Uhm—sure..?" he mutters. What? He was no better than any other the other students.</p>
<p>He inhales slightly as Erikson's hand reaches out and—pats him on his shoulder.</p>
<p>He looks at Dream a little funnily, but Dream just points his thumb over his shoulder and tries not to run out of the class.</p>
<p>He drops his pen twice on his way to his next class.</p><hr/>
<p>Psych classes are weird.</p>
<p>George isn't majoring in psych, but it's an easy class for credit, so even though it's a freshman class, he's enrolled.</p>
<p>He has his unlabelled spot in the class—third row from the back and farthest to the left—and has his coffee, notebook, and pencils laid out neatly on the desk by 11:34 am.</p>
<p>The students, for one, pick at his brain.</p>
<p>There's a boy sitting at the front, loud and hyper like a dog. His name is Nick and George is faily confident he's seen him in both his dorm building and the athletic center for some team—probably football. Nick, from what he's seen, is respectful, inexperienced, and desperate for attention. He tries his best to make friends and be social while not intruding on boundaries or pushing limits.</p>
<p>They've talked maybe once or twice, and exchanged both numbers and game IGNs, and most of their interactions have been through Minecraft.</p>
<p>A couple sits a row ahead of him and to his right, sharing drinks and holding hands. The woman, Niki (Nicole?) has short blonde hair and wears glasses, while the man has a yellow sweater and matching beanie over brown curls.</p>
<p>He's not 100% sure if they're a couple or just best friends, but they both seem like lovely people. The lady is quiet, soft, almost, and the man is a singer, from general rumors he'd heard. Neither hold an ounce of the energy Sapnap does, but they could match his flame if they choose.</p>
<p>There's some brown haired guy who hangs out with a Mexican a lot, and they're loud and always joking. One's Alex and one's Karl—he's not sure which. </p>
<p>There are perhaps a dozen more students—it's a small class—but everyone he'd seen so far had been younger than him or majoring in psych. He feels extremely out of place, a sparrow in a wolf pack, and regrets taking it. </p>
<p>Other than the students, the teacher intrigues him. Once they'd been 20 minutes late, and had given no warning about their absence. Sometimes they'd have a cat or a snake or a rat on their shoulder, poking at their hair and the chains on their glasses.</p>
<p>People enter the class. Karl or Alex sits a row behind him, and the other doesn't come in until a minute later. Niki and her boyfriend are across the room, and another man he didn't recognize was somewhat near them, and he strikes up a simple conversation with them.</p>
<p>McMasterson arrives at the front and begins class with introductions, even though it's near the end of the first week. "We have some new faces here, so I'd like you all to go around and introduce yourselves..."</p>
<p>The class is long and quiet, mostly going over human actions and the "impact of emotions." It caught his interest far quicker than he'd expected, a spider's web of information pulling him in. McMasterson explained a slight history of psychology and briefly delved into the medical side, and George took his notes diligently on his paper.</p>
<p>McMasterson wraps up class a quarter to 1, and hands out papers to be completed before the next class. George carefully takes them from another student when it's his turn, and passes them back to Alex/Karl behind him.</p><hr/>
<p>The campus is warm outside, grassy yards soaking up the sun. He gets a drink from the vending machine and pulls down his mask to drink it, making his way to the dorms. He's got work in half an hour, and he wants a shower beforehand.</p>
<p>The ring of a bell interrupts some classical piece playing as George enters the quiet shop, tying an apron around his waist. Schlatt is there already, slouched in a booth with a coffee and papers strewn over the table. Callahan, with his bear face mask, is at the register, tapping on the counter to an unheard beat. He can smell muffins baking in the back.</p>
<p>From the back, Bad's voice: "George! Is that you?"</p>
<p>He makes his way to the kitchen. "Yeah, I'm here," he laughs, half strained as Bad hugs him, arms just over his and face smushed against his chest. He doesn't know if he's had any friend as touchy as Bad.</p>
<p>"I thought you weren't coming in today!" Bad exclaims, then pulls on George's arm. "Ooh, wait, you have to try these muffins!"</p>
<p>He lets himself get dragged over to the ovens, where a rack of golden mini muffins are cooling. "Aren't—are these different?" he asks as he picks one up. Bad is the baker for this shop, but George has enough experience setting trays in display cases to know what muffins they sell and what they look like.</p>
<p>"No, just try one!" Bad insists. He does, and is pleasantly shocked when he bites into the sharp bakery.</p>
<p>He pops the rest into his mouth and furrows his brows. "Is that—cinnamon? And lemon? Bad, this is—really good!" The muffin is a little sour, and the cinnamon is a sharp addition to the crumbly texture. He picks up another one, and Bad gasps.</p>
<p>"You muffin! Those are to be <em>sold</em>, not eaten by you!" He smacks away George's hand. "Get back out there, I'm sure you have some customers to attend to." Bad's right; the bell rang again. He shoos George out of the kitchen.</p>
<p>Callahan is serving a customer at the counter, and hands over the order to George as he walks out. The lady by the counter sighs and pays, moving to wait at the specified area down the counter.</p>
<p>George waits by the machine for the drink to pour, humming the song, and drizzles caramel over the top as asked. The lady takes it and quickly bustles out of the shop, making George raise his brows at her hastiness. Schlatt, in his booth, is half-asleep and his two cups of coffee are empty. He refills Schlatt's coffee, and watches the lake through the large glass windows out the front.</p>
<p>He likes this college. Altonberry is a small university in the northeast of Pennsylvania, right up near Lake Erie and in a small town of maybe 10,000 people. The lake is maybe 20 minutes away and he has a clean dorm he can sleep in every night. He used to watch the water when he was lonely, the seamless waves and undercurrents of deep.</p>
<p>Lake Erie isn't like the Atlantic. The shores are smattered with rocks and driftwood and the wind that comes off the bay makes his eyes water like his mom just yelled at him. In his freshman year he spent much of his time there, hiding away and wishing for the waves to take him away. Sophomore year was spent in much the same way, too, until one of his comp sci friends found him at the edge of the trees and brought him back.</p>
<p>His days now are constant repetition; classes for a few hours then work then unending homework. On Saturdays he'll go grocery shopping, but the rest of his entertainment comes from night streams with friends he doesn't really know.</p>
<p>Before he moved to the US, he played Minecraft almost religiously. It was the only thing he did, really. He found servers and made friends and when he was a little older, began joining voice calls with them. He played for hours, wasting away his childhood to forgotten worlds and simple moments he longs for now. Friends who came and went like the tide, torn away from him in a millisecond. He didn't notice it at the time, of course; school got gradually more difficult and he lost interest in it.</p>
<p>It's almost a side job of his, streaming Minecraft. He gets a good 1-2K viewers each stream and probably a dozen subs and donos—enough for maybe 100 a night. It isn't any <em>real</em> payment, but it's enough for him to have some extra money to play around with.</p>
<p>It's lonely, though. Sometimes Bad joins, or Callahan, but neither engage the audience the way George needs them to. He needs—not <em>better</em> friends, Bad and Calla are good, but <em>more</em> friends. They fulfill the slightly distant, older brother position in his life, but he needs someone his age, or younger, that he can fool around with.</p>
<p>He wants someone who can laugh with him, unprompted, without pause. Someone witty, who can snap back jokes as fast as George regrets them, and push back with the same energy. Who George can truly trust, confide in; not just an acquaintance or classmate.</p>
<p>He just doesn't know how to find that person.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im not in college LMFAOOO (so idk how this really works)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>from dreamwastaken: xD</em>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>15:23</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| hi :) is this george from the poster</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Yeah<br/>
| What's your name</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| you can call me dream<br/>
| so u like playing mc right? do u have a schedule or just whenever</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Usually from 5pm to 11pm</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| 5 hours what?? do u not have classes<br/>
| 6 hours sorry i cant math*</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Lmao sometimes I dont spend that long but my classes are pretty easy<br/>
| Wbu</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| o lmao<br/>
| do u have autocaps on??</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Yeah why</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| no reason xD<br/>
| and i usually play at 7pm-10ish</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Did you just xD at me</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| hey<br/>
| you use autocaps you cant say anything LOLLLL</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Leave me alone /lh</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| oh sorry :(</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| No I was joking<br/>
| /lh means light hearted<br/>
| It's a tone indicator for texting</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| :o cool i've never heard about it</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Yeah they're pretty usefull for getting emotions across theres a whole list of them [<span class="u">Attachment</span>]</p><p><em>dreamwastaken:</em><br/>
| cool!<br/>
| \o&gt; gtg ill see u l8r</p>
<hr/><p>16:22</p><p><em>awesamdude:</em><br/>
| Hey is this george? from the mc poster in altonberry</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Yeah</p><p><em>awesamdude:</em><br/>
| Nice are u open for smp members? I'm a senior and I have a lot of time to play, hmu whenever B)</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Sure Ill dm u later when I make the gc</p><p><em>awesamdude:</em><br/>
| Thanks<br/>
| Also my pronouns are he/him</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| ? Okay<br/>
| Why do I need to know that</p><p><em>awesamdude:</em><br/>
| Dude<br/>
| Its good to say in general but it helps normalize it for trans people<br/>
| Or anyone in general </p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Oh ok I didnt know<br/>
| Didnt mean to be rude either sorry</p><p><em>awesamdude:</em><br/>
| Thats fine, as long as u mean it<br/>
| Talk to u later man, I gtg</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Ok<br/>
| Have a nice day</p>
<hr/><p>16:46</p><p><em>itsfundy:</em><br/>
| Hey man, is the mc smp open? :D</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Yeah ill add u to a gc with the other people soon</p><p><em>itsfundy:</em><br/>
| Thanks!! I'm a sophomore btw<br/>
| Do you know how many people be in the smp?</p><p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Not sure, probably smallish, &gt;10 people</p><p><em>itsfundy:</em><br/>
| K :D</p>
<hr/><p>It was Bad's idea, actually—to put up posters. And, to be honest, George didn't <em>really</em> want to do it, because who the hell puts up posters around campus asking for <em>Minecraft players?</em> But it was hard to find people make friends, and the one thing he could connect to people with was Minecraft, so...</p><p>The amount of texts he's recieved back was surprising, to say the least. No outlandish numbers, but still more than he expected, and they'd seemed quite nice and respectful. Sam, Fundy, Will-something, Tom, Toby (Tub?), Dream, and Bad, Callahan, Alyssa, and Ponk, of course.</p><p>In all his three years at Altonberry, he's had few good friends. Callahan and Bad, of course, but no one else. Sapnap he'd only met recently, and they'd never talked. And for all his internal loneliness, he'd would've thought he hid it well enough to seem normal on the outside.</p><p>Apparently not. Apparently he was "so dangerously close to the edge" that Bad wanted him to stay the night in his and Callahan's apartment.</p><p>He isn't...<em>depressed</em>. Not at all. He doesn't hurt himself intentionally, either, and doesn't take risks to drown out any pain. In fact, there is no pain; no trauma, no hardship.</p><p>Bad always tells him that he doesn't need any trauma to need help. That it was okay to be tired sometimes, or want everything to stop.</p><p>Of course, George agrees with him; anyone could want a break. But there's a difference between wanting a break and being lazy, and the line is far too blurred for him. </p><p>The poster and SMP idea is a way to make friends and interact with people. It's childish to George, a toddler wanting a birthday party, but Bad treated it seriously. He set up a Discord server and helped with the poster designs. He said he'd get some of his other friends in too, like Skeppy and Vurb (George didn't really know them, but he'd heard of them).</p><p>Now, hours later, he's ready to start the server. He'd made a simple group chat earlier, and everyone had done quick introductions before they started a voice call. George loads a world and shares the IP in the group chat. He'd gotten the usernames of the new people and they were already whitelisted—they just had to join.</p><p>Carefully he unmutes and wipes his hands on his pants. "Hi?"</p><p>Awesamdude's profile picture lights up as he speaks. "Hey! George, right?"</p><p>He exhales, glad there is someone actually in the call. "Yeah, you can call me George. Um, I already gave you the I.P—"</p><p>"Cool." Sam is nice—over text, he'd been very formal; in VC, his deep voice is soothing. "Hey, are you—"</p><p>Another voice interrupts him, masculine and slightly more accented. "Hey! Hello! This is Fundy," he says. "How are you?"</p><p>Sam loads onto the server, dressed in a very 2014-esque creeper skin. George shifts at him in game. "Hi—oh, wait, Fundy? Floris?"</p><p>"Yeah, hi. Sam?" Fundy says, and he logs in as well. And Sam laughs, and apparently they know each other because they start talking, and suddenly George feels cold.</p><p>Sam and Fundy's voices blur together in his ears, and someone else joins soon after. George is quiet throughout the hour or so they spend on the server, and he goes exploring while they go mining. It's not really something he announces—Sam suggests for him to do so, because they've already got their little group of fun.</p><p>George wants to laugh at it. His one attempt to get friends turned into him being left out. <em>Again.</em></p><p>But he doesn't say anything. He murmurs something assentive and heads eastward from spawn, to a mountain biome and then across an ocean. Sam and Fundy seem to be having a wonderful time, loud and jovial in the call with the other guy (Will something), laughing and cheering as they find iron, then gold, then diamonds. George boats on.</p><p>The edges of a desert peak at his view, but he mutes himself on call to go pee. The water from the sink shocks his hands and the lights sallow his skin.</p><p>He gets back and there's someone new on the server—Dream, their IGN reads. No one had talked in the game chat while he'd been gone, but he did have a whisper from Dream.</p><p><em>Hi,</em> they said. <em>im dream (dreamwastaken) ;p</em>.</p><p>He carefully types out a response. <em>Hi :) why arent you in the call?</em> Mobs swarm him in game as he runs to the temple. Dream's next message comes right as he gets inside the temple.</p><p>
  <em>im nervous :( youre muted too.</em>
</p><p>Nervous. George knows the feeling. The first chest has a golden apple, sand, and rotten flesh. <em>I was there earlier but i dont want to talk</em>. The second chest is just bones and a few pieces of iron.</p><p>
  <em>what r u doing rn?</em>
</p><p>He checks the other two chests and builds up to get out of the temple. <em>exploring</em>, he says.</p><p>Dream's next reply comes much quicker. <em>!!! can i come :D</em>. George kills a creeper at the top of the temple and heads into a safer area before responding.</p><p><em>Im kinda far</em>, he types. <em>Im at 300 -230 if u wanna come. its across an ocean.</em></p><p>Dream doesn't respond after that, and George continues on across the desert. He kills mobs and has to stop at the edge of a forest to cook some porkchops, and after perhaps 20 minutes he gets another whisper. <em>where r u now?</em> He sends his coords and retrieves his porkchops, and when he turns around, Dream's there.</p><p>It—it actually shocks him in real life. The sun is just rising and Dream was half hidden behind a tree. He crouches at George, punches the air a bit, then George gets a new message. <em>can i have some food pls :)</em></p><p>He drops half the porkchops he'd just cooked.</p><p>
  <em>tyyy!!!</em>
</p><p>Dream's skin is all yellow with a white circle on the stomach and a simple smile on it. It's dumb, but George feels his mouth curve up in a mirroring smile.</p><p>Maybe Dream will be his friend.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>commentttt pls 🥺</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rainy Friday afternoons and lonely nights.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's been a while, huh</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Class ends with a rumble of thunder outside, and Sapnap looks out the window at the darkening sky with a shiver of annoyance down his spine. It's his last class of the day and it's a Friday, so of <em>course</em> it had to rain when he hadn't brought his jacket. His friends shuffle out, loud and jovial, heading to someone's party. He'd passed off on it; his week had been terrible and he yearned for sleep.</p>
<p>The sky outside is a depressing gray, massive sections of cloud casting dark shadows. He shoves his hands into his pockets as raindrops pelt down. His shirt is plastered to his stomach in a matter of minutes, and even with his best attempts to keep his face towards the walls, the wind buffets it into him.</p>
<p>The campus is pretty empty as he passes through, only a few stragglers like him, caught unlucky in the rain. He makes his way to the bus stop and hides under the shelter, cursing the open sides—who the hell designed it? Sapnap takes his phone out of his pocket and wipes the screen, somehow already streaky with rain. It takes a good thirty seconds for it to recognize his face and longer for him to get to the transit app—only to find out that the bus is delayed by 20 minutes.</p>
<p>Wonderful.</p>
<p>He sighs, leans back against the bench. He spots a small piece of paper on his left, dotted with rain and crumpled. He leans over and picks it up, smoothes it out.</p>
<p>
  <em>Looking for some friends willing to play Minecraft.<br/>
For students at Altonberry Uni<br/>
Contact georgenotfound@gmail.com (Serious inquiries only)</em>
</p>
<p>Huh. A flyer for <em>Minecraft</em>, of all things? Funny, but… He likes Minecraft. He's good at it, even. And... He <em>did</em> miss playing with his friends. Maybe he could make more at Altonberry. </p>
<p>He stuffed the paper in his pocket and waits for the bus.</p><hr/>
<p>Dream slips his hood up further as the bus slows to a stop, pulls his bag closer to him. A few people get on—a man with an Altonberry shirt, an older woman with a little dog, and two younger kids. They find their places, wet shoes soaking the carpeted floor, and the bus starts up again with an unsteady rumble. The dog's barks penetrate the silence like needles through the skin.</p>
<p>He turns the music up on his earbuds.</p>
<p>The rain streaks across the windows, pulling with it dirt and grime and dust. The bus route goes all the way south of the campus—through the science wings—and comes up westside by the bay. </p>
<p>When they stop at another light, he takes a moment to look at the guy who'd got on earlier. He looks very familiar, likely in one of his classes. He's also very… handsome? Pretty? Dream's not sure how to describe it, but there's something about the way his hair falls over his bandana, the way his shoulders slope under his shirt, the way his eyes slant as he looks back at Dream... </p>
<p>Oh. Shit. </p>
<p>Dream averts his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. He can feel the other man's eyes on him, dark and questioning; a soft question held in his gaze. Dream looks back, and then away, and for a minute they play a game of cat and mouse, catching each other's eyes before looking away. </p>
<p>Finally the other gives up, and Dream's stomach settles.</p>
<p>The man is sitting to his left, across the aisle. His hair is dark, slicked to his head with rainwater. The bus smelt like lakewater. Dream's skin pricks, and he notices the other man's hairs rising on his forearms. And—his face mask has…</p>
<p>Panda ears?</p>
<p>Dream blinks. </p>
<p>The dog barks again, and in front of him the two younger kids—probably in elementary school or middle school—start at the loud noise. The smaller flinches against the bigger. They pull the other one closer, giving the lady's dog a mean glare and sticking their tongue out at it. </p>
<p>Dream smiles slightly.</p>
<p>When he glances over again, the man isn't looking at the kids; he's looking at Dream.</p><hr/>
<p><em>God</em> he is pretty, Sapnap thinks. The guy on the bus has light floppy blond hair, somehow miraculously dry in this torrential downpour, and his green eyes are piercing above the dark mask—which is, of course, decorated with a simple white smiley face. He can't help but smirk under his own mask at it.</p>
<p>He looks slightly younger than Sapnap—maybe by a year? Probably a freshman. Sapnap's always been told he looks older than he is. His hoodie is a deep green, thick and pushed up at the elbows. He's spinning a pen in one hand; Sapnap watches as his long fingers twirl it effortlessly around his thumb, across his palm, between fingers. He looks back at Sapnap and doesn't turn away—it seems that, as much as Sapnap is captivated in his eyes, <em>he's</em> stuck in <em>Sapnap's</em>.</p>
<p>Red grows under the other's cheeks like a fiery sunset.</p>
<p>His pen slips out of his fingers and drops to the bus floor. The pen is only a couple of ounces, probably less, but Sapnap swears he can feel its weight across the aisle.</p>
<p>The blond holds Sapnap's gaze for just a second longer before leaning down to pick it up. Sapnap looks out the window and ignores him for the rest of the ride.</p>
<p>He can feel the blond's eyes on him, weight as heavy as the pen he'd dropped.</p><hr/>
<p>Sapnap gets off before the other guy. It's dark—it's September, of course it's dark—but the streetlights only illuminate the sidewalk for a few feet in front of him. It's only 4 pm.</p>
<p>He gets in his dorm and drops his bag heavily on the couch, opening the fridge with a sigh. His roommate (Alex?) had eaten his tacos he'd gotten on Wednesday, and left only the guac. The orange juice was half-finished, too. He sticks a pack of ramen in the microwave and goes to pull off his clothes when he remembers the small paper. He unfolds it and drops it on the counter. Minecraft, huh.</p>
<p>The microwave beeps at him and the noodles are uncooked. Sapnap's not a moron so he sticks it back in and goes to put on some shorts—his clothes smelt like sweat and rainwater. Disgusting, but he doesn't do more than toss it into the pile of his other clothes. </p>
<p>The ramen is done when he comes back and he waits for it to cool as he types up an email to that George guy from the poster; a simple <em>hey my name is nick. i saw ur flier, id like to play mc with you</em>. He puts on a show while he waits—and it actually gets him a bit nervy, just sitting on the couch with Criminal Minds playing in the silence. </p>
<p>It starts raining again as the episode ends, and he's almost done with his ramen when his phone vibrates with a notification—an email. </p>
<p>It's Georgenotfound.</p>
<p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Hi nick, whats your ign so i can whitelist you?</p>
<p><em>nick:</em><br/>
| its sapnap</p>
<p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Wait your sapnap? I think i know you</p>
<p><em>nick:</em><br/>
| how lol<br/>
| have we played together</p>
<p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Yeah<br/>
| My ign is literally my email, georgenotfound. dont you knpw me<br/>
| Know me*</p>
<p><em>nick:</em><br/>
| wait frrrr lmao<br/>
| i forgot</p>
<p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Lmao its fine<br/>
| Do you go by Nick or sapnap</p>
<p><em>nick:</em><br/>
| sapnap is better ig</p>
<p><em>nick</em> changed their name to <em>sapnap</em></p>
<p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Cool can you get on tonight?<br/>
| Added you to the gc btw</p>
<p><em>sapnap:</em><br/>
| yea gimme like 30 minutes</p>
<p>He throws away the ramen cup and turns off the TV, rain becoming the only noise in his dorm. With everything else gone he can suddenly hear his neighbors—would they be neighbors?—in the rooms beside him; one loud with rock music and the other rough with...moving furniture. </p>
<p>The shower he runs is hot and steamy, and he can barely hear the Quadeca playing as he gets out. Lilly is scratching at the door to get in, but Mogwai's already laying on the pile of his new clothes. "Mogwai," he giggles, dragging out the last vowel. He gently pushes them off his shirt, and they spring up suddenly, fur fluffed wide. He watches them as he puts on his clothes, then wipes off the mirror. </p>
<p>He looks...well, normal. Hair plastered to his forehead, face a bit red from the heat of the shower. He ties back his hair and brushes his teeth quickly before flicking off the light and leaving the room. Lilly curls around his legs as he walks into his bedroom (if it could be called that), and Mogwai leaves him for their food bowl.</p>
<p>Georgenotfound had pinged him during his shower.</p>
<p><em>georgenotfound:</em><br/>
| Hey im not on the server right now but i sent the ip earlier in the discord, check gen 2<br/>
| Also check #rules-1</p>
<p><em>sapnap:</em><br/>
| alr</p>
<p>The rules channel is concise—don't grief, don't grind too hard, don't steal. He opens up Minecraft and gets in an empty VC as it loads.</p>
<p>He spawns in a spruce forest, stone hills to one side. He starts mining a tree, immediately getting lost in the casual simplicity of the game.</p>
<p>He mines a few trees and delves into a nearby ravine, breaking some iron ore and dying a few times to a skeleton. He manages to kill the skeleton on his second try and builds up from the ravine, iron smelted into a chestplat and some tools. The mountain biome he'd seen earlier is his next destination; he spends another night atop it, fighting off mobs and using a crafting bench that'd been placed by another person. </p>
<p>Minecraft was an escape for Sapnap. It was a place where he could live out all his fantasies and make friends and be, for lack of a better word, swag; a place where he didn't have to worry about his parents' relationship or his grades or the fact that he liked boys. As a child and teen, it was a quick fix to all his problems.</p>
<p>Now... It's almost a trap. He gets caught up in the consistency of its 10 minute day cycle, the blurring repetition of cubes against cubes against cubes, the dragging process of <em>get this get that break this kill that</em>. He rubs his eyes and swallows. His eyes hurt so bad.</p>
<p>The sky's dark, and the rain has long since stopped.</p>
<p>Lilly's at his feet, and Mogwai's in their cardboard box. Both of them are sound asleep. He slurps noisily from his cup and Lilly's black nose twitches at the disturbance. Sapnap watches her whiskers tense and relax. He leans back heavily in his chair again.</p>
<p><em>Maybe this isn't such a good break</em>, he muses. His mom had always told him that gaming wasn't good for the soul. Then again, when was she ever right? All she'd done for him was split their family and give him trust issues.</p>
<p>Sapnap sighs into the dark and turns off his computer. His bio paper is a mocking devil in the back of his mind. He should've worked on that instead. Or done something productive while he had the time—taken care of his cats; gotten groceries. Called his dad. </p>
<p>He hadn't done that in a while, atleast not willingly.</p>
<p>With no motivation, he gets in bed and puts in an earbud. Some stupid lofi playlist starts up, upbeat like sunflowers. He taps his fingers on his chest to the beat.</p>
<p>The rain starts up again, less than before. Mogwai still wakes up in a instant, fur staticky. They curly tightly in the small hole of his arm and body, circling around a few times before laying their head down under their tail. Sapnap tucks his head against theirs.</p>
<p>The thunder rumbles through his bones.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>almost just a filler but,,,,</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>